


Any Wvay You Wvant It

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anything for Attention, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Pegging, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damara and Cronus both want the same thing. They both get it. It's a win-win situation, right?</p><p>Yeah, sure. Let's go with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Wvay You Wvant It

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [bold as a street light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/715670) by [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah). 



> I am a sick, sick fuck. This is my first time ever writing porn. I am too ashamed of this to publish it under my regular username, so here it it.

It’s a lazy afternoon, the air soaked with sun and pulsing with the hum of insects. Cronus has his guitar in his lap, idly thumbing the strings. Not daring to really strum, though. He’s cut enough guitar strings with his claws for one week.

 _Maybe I should trim my claws,_ he muses. _Would that go with the whole humankin mystique, or would it just make me look like a wuss?_

He snaps out of his reverie when he notices Damara approaching. She strides with the ferocity of a wild fire, each step making her hips swing wide, make her skirt dance and tease in the breeze. And she’s walking straight towards _him._

_Fuck, is it too late to check my hair without being too obvious?_

He tries to casually catch his reflection in the mirrored surface of his guitar. Good thing his default mode is fabulous, because she’s towering over him before he can get a glimpse.

“Hey there, angel,” he begins. “What’s a sweet thing like-”

“You hive. Me you fuck. You listen orders. Sound good?”

It takes him a moment to process her thick accent, and another to overcome his disbelief.

“Uh, uh, yeah, okay, yeah, sounds…”

She’s already whirling away, her skirt flouncing so high Cronus can see her panties. Wait, no, she isn’t _wearing_ panties. Cronus is on his feet in a flash, jogging to catch up.

* * *

 

Cronus doesn’t get a chance to shut his door before she’s tearing his clothes off. Literally _tearing_ them. Cronus liked that shirt, but this is too smoking hot for him to waste time pouting. He moves in to grab her waist, but she pushes him away.

“On fuck couch,” she orders, pointing to his bed. He eagerly complies. “Lay on face. Place ass in air.”

_Oh sweet gog, this is the best day of my life._

He can feel her heat before she even lays a hand on him. It’s like standing in front of a fire. She’s all flame, trailing her hand down his back, dipping into the cleft of his ass. Hands flickering, dancing, making him quiver and croon. Then she pulls away for a second. Cronus almost complains, but he hears the rustle of fabric falling like leaves. She’s taking her clothes off. He squirms in anticipation, body tight with excitement. Like lightning striking, she’s back on him again.

 Cronus flinches, trying not to let out a cry as her bulge slithers into him suddenly.

_It’s cool. Doll wants to get right down to business. I can roll with that._

He had expected a little more foreplay, though. His nook is unprepared, and the surprise of her entry made him tense up in shock. Now, he struggles to relax. However, she’s already working against him, thrusting a little. Every movement sends a little more pain, making him tense more, making it more painful the next time. It’s a vicious cycle.

“Hey, doll, how about- “

“No talk,” Damara snaps, leaning her weight into him.

Cronus lets out a little gasp. Not a sexy moan, but a whimpy little yelp. Not cool. He bites his lip, not wanting to look like a sissy.

There’s a hand at the back of his neck, hot like a firebrand, pushing his head down into the sheets.

_Okay, she wants it rough. I’m not picky,_

Letting out a growl, Cronus pushes up. He’s rewarded with a telekinetic shock, making him jerk and clench. Using just her psionics, Damara pins him to the bed, locking his hands in place so he can’t move. She’s working him harder, claws digging into his pelvic bone for purchase.

There are tears in Cronus’s eyes, just a reflex from the pain. He breathes and tells himself it’s no big deal. Just a little rough play. Black or red, doesn’t matter.

Just as long as he’s getting some. Just as long as her hands are on him, it doesn’t matter it they are drawing blood. As long as he can hear her voice crooning to him, it doesn’t matter what the words are. Doesn’t matter if she’s calling him names, letting out a murmuring stream of insults as she squirms deeper inside him.

“Feel like fucking fish head, slimy gross gill boy. No wondering why no one touch you,” she hisses under her breath. Maybe to herself, maybe directed at him.

Cronus tries to tune the words out, instead focusing on the hot throb of her inside him. It’s not good, not yet, but he thinks he’s warming up. There’s a little bit of blood slinking down his sides, where her nails are in him. That’s hot. He wishes she’d let him use his arms, so that maybe he could scratch back. Really get this black party going. Instead, his neck is starting to ache, his head twisting uncomfortably from where it's shoved against the mattress.

“Already be done if you not so fish smell, take forever to want you. Clammy like wet towel. You still liking this, lonely little fish boy, want me fuck you harder?”

Every time she rushes forward, his horns scrape against his shoulder blades. The force pushes a whimper from him every time, but Cronus tries to turn it into something sexy sounding. He’s a sex _god._ She’ll be begging for more later. She won’t just use him up and leave him.

“That’s the spot,” he croons, even though it feels like masturbating with steel wool.

“Make quiet,” she snaps. “You ruin mood.”

For a few minutes it’s just thrusts and grunts. Then, a tremor runs through Damara. Cronus feels an acidic warmth, like stepping into a too-hot shower, pour into him. He yelps, a few tears springing free and slithering down his face. Before he can recover from the reflexive disgust of being used like a bucket, Damara is off him and slipping back into her clothes.

“Heh, good stuff, sweetness,” he says, burying a wince as he sits up. She flashes him a sneer and a finger. “So, uh, do you want me to call you, or…?”

“No,” Damara growls, winking out between one breath and the next.

It takes a few minutes for Cronus to get his breath back enough to move. When he does, he can feel the sting inside his body where his nook was rubbed raw.

“You’ll be back for more, babe,” he says into empty air. Trying to sound confident, sultry. Trying to pretend that there isn’t a shake in his voice and blood on his thighs.

With pained movements, he begins the long process of cleaning up.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly I had a plot bunny about how Cronus would let anyone treat him like shit or do whatever to him as long as he was getting attention. Also this is a rarepair that I like, because I can see these two using each other to help alleviate their own social isolation. 
> 
> Excuse me. I need to go rethink my life.


End file.
